


lean back and breathe

by inexhaustible



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, bye, i literally hate myself rn, just indou in a skirt tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9661808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexhaustible/pseuds/inexhaustible
Summary: “Did you know,” Indou drawls, voice hoarse, “that Seiseki used to have a cheer team?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> find me @iindou  
> and never talk to me ever again oh my god im mortified + can't believe that i did this, kill me
> 
> s/o to ppl in the days chat for ENABLING THIS

Mizuki gets the call in the middle of practice, turning to his bag where it sits next to him on the bench, buzzing. He frowns, glancing up at Nakazawa, who nods in acknowledgement before turning back to watch the game. Mizuki rummages through his bag, grabbing it and flipping it open, glancing at the caller ID. 

_ Incoming call from: Kaoru-chan, _ it reads, letters glaring in the light. (Indou had entered his contact name in himself, in Mizuki’s defense.)

Mizuki looks around, walking further away from the bench before picking the call up, raising the phone to his ear. 

“I’m at practice,” he grumbles, without preamble. “What do you want?” 

Over the phone, Indou laughs, strangely breathy. 

“Did you know,” Indou drawls, voice hoarse, “that Seiseki used to have a cheer team?”

Mizuki swallows, fingers toying with the hem of his jersey. 

“Sure,” he allows, gritting his teeth. “Why are you interrupting my practice to ask me this?” 

“The uniform is pretty tight on me,” Indou says, wickedly – Mizuki freezes, eyes widening and face flushing bright red. “But it fits.” 

Indou hums, thoughtfully, before his breath hitches, a small sigh drifting across the line. 

“Are you –?” Mizuki pauses, voice trailing off. 

“Touching myself?” Indou asks, unapologetically. “Yeah.” Mizuki can hear the smirk in his words through the speaker, and his eyes close for a split second, imagining –

– fuck. He really shouldn’t be humoring Indou right now, not when he’s still at practice. But he  _ wants _ , and he can’t think straight, not when Indou is doing that, when Mizuki can’t touch him, can’t see him. 

“Indou,” he says, warningly. 

“Mm?” There’s a challenge there, and it makes something snap in Mizuki’s chest. 

“Don’t come until I get there,” Mizuki says, voice almost a growl. Indou groans, low, and Mizuki tries not to let it get to him, because it'd be absurdly embarrassing if he gets hard now, of all times. 

Sometimes, he really hates Indou.

“You’re cruel,” Indou sighs into the receiver. Mizuki rolls his eyes, eyes glancing back when the harsh tone of a whistle interrupts his thoughts. 

“Are we clear?” he reiterates, tone sharp. It’s the voice he uses when he’s directing his team, authoritative and direct. Indou is silent for a beat before he responds. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But hurry up then, fuck. I want – god, Mizuki, I want you.”

“Impatient.”

“Always.”

Mizuki pauses, surreptitiously shuffling further away from the bench. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, measured. 

“I’m going to come back from practice, and I’m going to fuck you in that uniform,” Mizuki murmurs into the receiver. “Since you’re asking for it.”

Indou makes a choked noise, before exhaling shakily. The breath sparks static noise across the line, and Mizuki takes his silence as submission, turning back to glance at the field. 

“I’ll see you in a bit,” he adds, casually, before he flips his phone shut. 

–

Of all the ideas Kaoru’s had in his eighteen years of life, he’s pretty sure this one ranks up there with the best of them. 

He flips his phone shut, throwing it off to the side, wincing when it tumbles off of his bed and clatters onto the floor. Kaoru shifts uncomfortably on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling and throwing a hand through his messy hair. 

_ Fuck.  _

His apartment is almost painfully small, a cheap one-room thing in a shady part of town he’d rented to stop freeloading off of Shuuji, and from his position on the bed Kaoru can just barely see the full-length mirror in the bathroom, reflection clear in its center. 

He’s a mess, legs spread and toes curling into the mattress, plaid skirt hiked up to let him touch himself, his dick brushing up against the soft fabric and sending a jolt up his spine. Kaoru glances over at where the button up blouse draws tightly over his arms, bow knotted loosely and draped across his collar. Knee-high socks cinch tightly around his legs, dark against the bleached white of the sheets. 

He strokes himself languidly, eyes glancing at the mirror, head falling back. 

_ “I’m going to come back from practice, and I’m going to fuck you in that uniform.” _

_ “Since you’re asking for it.” _

Mizuki’s words echo in his head, and Kaoru groans, hips stuttering upwards into his fist. Mizuki’s voice – fuck, Kaoru had almost lost it right then and there when Mizuki had talked like that, when Mizuki had given him  _ orders _ . 

He pulls his hand away from himself, ignoring how his body protests at the loss of contact, leaning over and grabbing a bottle of lube from the drawer next to his bed. Kaoru wants – he wants Mizuki to fuck him in this uniform, wants to be wet for him, and he shivers when he thinks about Mizuki’s voice over the line, quiet and dark and  _ commanding _ . 

It’s not often that Mizuki loses control, but Kaoru’s determined to make it happen. 

One thing he knows for certain: this is  _ definitely _ one of his best ideas. 

–

Mizuki’s barely knocked at the door before it opens, minutely, Indou’s voice hushed as he asks, “Is there anyone around?”

Mizuki glances around before shaking his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “No.”

“Good,” Indou replies, opening the door the rest of the way. Mizuki stares, mouth going dry, because – well, shit. 

The skirt is the first thing that draws his eye, gaze tracing Indou’s legs appreciatively where the fabric frames them, and Mizuki swallows roughly when he sees a telltale bump in the skirt. His eyes trail down to where black knee-highs wrap around Indou’s calves, before flickering up to take in the too-small blouse,  _ Seiseki _ emblazoned across the chest and a messily tied bow at its collar completing the look. Indou watches his appraisal, something like hunger written across his face before he raises an eyebrow, turning back and gesturing for Mizuki to come in. 

“You – where did you even get that,” Mizuki grits out, following Indou into his apartment and toeing off his shoes. 

“I have my sources,” Indou replies cryptically. Mizuki feels hot all over, desperate to take Indou apart, to watch him writhe and squirm in that damned skirt. Arousal burns heady in his gut, rushing through him when Indou gets on his bed, looking back at Mizuki, pupils blown wide. 

He approaches steadily, climbing onto the bed, pushing Indou forcefully down. 

“Finally,” Indou breathes, and Mizuki lets his lips quirk upward before he leans in, kissing Indou slowly, possessively. He pulls away, trailing a hand down Indou’s chest, over his hips, palming him over the thin fabric of the skirt. Indou bucks upward into his touch, breath rushing out of him in a sigh. 

“Don’t tease,” he mumbles, and Mizuki huffs, running fingers over the top of the skirt, savoring the way it looks on Indou. 

“You’re one to talk,” Mizuki says, flipping the skirt upward and reaching down to stroke Indou in earnest. He's hard, droplets of white already leaking out of his cock, and Mizuki growls lowly when he thinks about it – about Indou touching himself, aching, but unable to come, waiting for Mizuki to get back. Indou groans, and Mizuki leans in again, swallowing his noises and licking insistently into his mouth, making a low sound when Indou’s tongue brushes against his. He slows the motion of his hand, reaching down and back, and Indou’s breath hitches when Mizuki brushes over his hole, a shudder running through his body. Mizuki’s eyes close, and he knows he’s hard, because his fingers come back slippery. 

“You –” Mizuki starts, but he loses the words, voice dying in his throat at the way Indou’s already wet and loose, and he growls into a heated kiss as his fingers slide in easily, coaxing a desperate moan from Indou’s throat.

“Wanted to be –  _ fuck _ ,” Indou pants, against his lips. “Wanted to be ready for you.”

There’s really nothing he can say to that, so he swallows, thickly, fingers slipping out of Indou with a slick sound that sends blood rushing straight to his cock. 

Mizuki feels as if he’s one second away from losing his shit as he leans away to tug off his shirt roughly, moving to unbutton his pants. He barely gets them off before Indou grabs his wrist. 

“Just stay like this,” Indou says, eyeing Mizuki where he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. Indou gets onto his knees, shuffling over and straddling Mizuki, skirt smoothing down and covering his thighs. Mizuki runs a hand up his leg, snapping the elastic band of the knee-high curiously, drawing a laugh from Indou. 

Everything stops, for a brief second, when Indou leans back, guiding himself with a hand down onto Mizuki’s cock. He slides in and Indou is all slick warmth and Mizuki is lost to it – Mizuki grips Indou’s hips harshly, panting into his neck. 

“You’re so wet,” Mizuki groans, breath hitching when Indou starts to move. He slides easily in and out of Indou, lube easing the way and making him loose, pliable. Mizuki feels the slippery liquid coat him, soft noises echoing through the room every time Indou lowers himself back onto Mizuki’s cock and sending shivers through Mizuki’s spine. Indou looks just as lost as Mizuki feels, eyes shuttered and mouth open to suck in panting breaths, riding him as if he’s desperate for it, skirt bouncing at his sides. Indou raises a hand to touch himself, and Mizuki bats it away, replacing it with his own. 

“Mizuki,” Indou says, voice breaking in something like a sob. Mizuki strokes him slowly, his touch light, and Indou sucks in shaky breaths, driving a moan from Mizuki’s lips when he starts to move faster, raising himself completely off of Mizuki’s lap before grinding down again, Mizuki’s cock sliding in deep. Indou jerks when Mizuki hits his prostate, letting out a strangled cry, and Mizuki moves his hands to Indou’s thighs, tensing. 

He wants to watch Indou come undone, wants to take control and fuck him into a writhing mess. 

Mizuki tightens his grip on Indou’s legs and swings them over. Indou, sensing his intentions, shivers, legs wrapping around Mizuki’s waist and arms coming up to encircle his neck before Mizuki gets up, lifting Indou with a grunt and slamming his back up against the wall. 

“Mizuki,” Indou groans, throwing his head back when the new angle drives Mizuki in deeper, his legs tightening around Mizuki’s waist. “Fuck me, come on.”

“Maybe,” Mizuki says, as if deliberating. His breath is coming fast, and Indou feels so fucking good around him that he’s not even sure how long he’ll last, but Indou looks just as wrecked, skirt hiked up around his waist, dick hard and straining against his stomach. 

“ _ Please,” _ Indou begs, and Mizuki smirks, feeling something crackle under his skin like a live wire. He obliges, pushing Indou’s legs upward and pulling almost entirely out before thrusting back in mercilessly. Indou arches up hard against him, clawing at Mizuki’s back, mindless praises falling from his mouth as Mizuki finds his rhythm, fucking him hard and fast against the wall. 

“God,” Indou pants, “So good, c’mon, more, I need – need you deeper,  _ ah,  _ feels so good, Mizuki –”

Mizuki feels like there’s not enough air to fill his lungs, not when Indou is like this, when he’s running his mouth and begging for it. 

“Too much talking,” Mizuki grumbles, sealing his lips with a fierce kiss. When he moves a hand over to run over Indou’s cock, Indou groans as if pained, words becoming breathless noises, desperate pants and whines that drive Mizuki insane. He’s definitely not going to last now, not with the way Indou twitches and clenches down around him with every thrust, so he wraps his fingers finally around Indou’s dick, wrist moving in quick, practiced strokes. 

“Want to see you come for me,” Mizuki murmurs, voice rough and wrecked. “Kaoru.”

Indou comes with a wordless cry, breaths stopping as he jerks hard against Mizuki’s fist, legs trembling. Mizuki groans at the way Indou tightens around him, at the way Indou throws his head back and moans, broken, every time Mizuki pushes into him, orgasm waning and pushing his body into oversensitivity. 

It’s when Mizuki pulls back and looks at him that he loses it: Indou, back tensed and arched, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut, splatters of white coating his blouse, his skirt – he looks utterly debauched, and Mizuki bites down on Indou’s neck to muffle his cry as he thrusts into him a final time, coming hard into his body. Indou shudders against him, letting out a small whine as Mizuki pulls out. 

Mizuki’s legs are shaky and his muscles are sore from the exertion, but he musters enough strength to shuffle back and dump Indou gracelessly onto the bed, snorting at the indignant yelp it elicits. He paces into Indou’s bathroom, grabbing a towel and wetting it, roughly cleaning himself up before he pads back out, swallowing thickly at the sight. 

Indou is sprawled out on his bed, legs spread and skirt hiked up. His dark blouse is half undone, hair a mess and lips red and puffy. From here, Mizuki can see a slight trickle of white running down his thigh, and feels a rush of possessiveness run through him: Indou looks satisfied, fucked thoroughly, boneless on the mattress and still disgustingly arousing in the outfit. 

“This was a surprise,” Mizuki manages to say, and Indou smiles triumphantly. 

“C’mere,” Indou says, softly, and Mizuki complies, letting Indou pull him into his chest and leaning up into a lazy kiss. 

“Maybe I should cheer you on every time you have a game,” Indou murmurs, and Mizuki feels something dark curl up in his gut, anticipation and arousal licking up his spine. 

“Yeah,” Mizuki says, hoarsely. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”


End file.
